Absolutely Crazy
by I. Fire Queen
Summary: He was a prominent corporate tax and finance lawyer; she was an international sex symbol. But he didn't have to know that did he? And he didn't have to know she was going to have his baby, right? Rowan x Mia
1. Chapter One

Absolutely Crazy (Chapter One)

Written by Imperial Fire Queen

Disclaimer: I don't own the Ronin Warriors.

            _"The darkest hour is that before the dawn…"_

            As he recalled the old proverb, a grim smile flickered across the hard, tanned features of the man leaning casually against a pillar on the wide, shady veranda of his luxurious _casita_.

            Well, at least it's a comforting thought, Rowan told himself wryly. After the string of disasters, which had recently been inflicted on his family, he could certainly do with a bright 'new dawn'. 

            Fast approaching the watershed of his thirtieth birthday, it seemed to Rowan as if every single part of his life was now in the process of a dramatic change. Even as he stood here – sipping a long cold drink and gazing out at the dazzling snow-white beach of this exclusively private Philippine island resort – he knew there could be no escape from the many problems which awaited his return to Britain.

            The younger son of a younger son, Rowan had never – not even in his wildest dreams – imagined that he would one day find himself inheriting both his uncle Hector's title of Lord Hashiba and the large estate in the south of England. Which was why, as a very junior member of his family, he'd been able to choose his own path in life, first studying law at university, before going on to forge a successful career in the City of London. 

            Unfortunately, the past few years had proved to be disastrous, with one dreadful tragedy being quickly followed by another.

            His own father's death, following a long, brave and valiant fight against cancer, had not being entirely unexpected. However, the horrific car accident, mainly due to thick fog on the motorway, which had claimed the lives of his uncle Hector's son, wife and young family had led to a profound and devastating series of evens as far as Rowan was concerned.

            His uncle, Lord Hashiba, had never really recovered from the shock of losing his only son and heir. His death soon afterwards, following a massive stroke, had meant that Rowan's much-loved older brother, Raphael, had inherited the title. But tragically, he too, had been killed in a complete unforeseen accident while skiing in Switzerland, just under a month ago. And now Rowan found himself the sole survivor of a family, which had been virtually wiped out within the short space of two years. 

            Well…that wasn't strictly true, he reminded himself quickly. There was his own daughter, Suzunagi.

            He dearly loved the 12 year old girl – at present living with his ex-wife. Rowan, with grim memories of his own misspent youth, was determined to be a helpful understanding and supportive father. Maybe the recent family tragedies would help to bring them both closer together?

            However, while anxious to improve his future relationship with Suzunagi, he was now going to have to take some immediate and far-reaching decisions about his inheritance. Having lived and worked in London for most of his life, his current existence was a million light years away from ten thousand acres and the huge Palladian mansion currently referred to in the tourist guides as 'a classic example of a stately home'.

            The people who write those books should try spending a night I the vast, crumbling old pile, Rowan thought grimly. Because it had certainly never occurred to his uncle Hector – a tight-fisted, miserly old skinflint if ever there was one! – that he had both a duty and responsibility to care for the large house on behalf of future generations of his family.

            So, the net result was that Hashiba Hall was now a huge white elephant. Not only did it have a badly leaking roof – which let in more of the elements than it kept out – but also a mass of crumbling stonework and rotten timbers. Rowan knew that it would need a fortune just to install some decent, modern plumbing – let along try to do something about repairs to the basic structure. 

            Moreover, it wasn't just a case of bracing one's shoulders and facing up to personal tragedy. With each successive death, he'd also found himself having to deal with the additional heavy burden of massive taxation.

            As the senior partner of a large firm of lawyers, specializing in corporate tax and finance, he might well have the profession expertise to cope with the problem. But following the tragic loss of his brother, Raphael – only a few months after his inheriting the land and title from their uncle Hector – Rowan had known that he would have little time to mourn. Not only had his brother left his affairs in a mess, but all too soon Rowan knew that he was going to be faced with demands by the Inland Revenue, requiring payment of yet another large amount of death duties. 

            Although he, like everyone else in the land, hated having to pay taxes, Rowan was certainly wealthy enough in his own right not to have a problem in finding the money. But exactly how he was going to deal with a large agricultural estate when he knew absolutely _nothing_ about farming, he had no idea. In fact…

            A slight movement at the corner of his eye distracted his gloomy thoughts for a moment. Turning his dark head, he watched a distant figure walking slowly across the white sand, before disappearing behind some palms at the far end of the beach. 

            'There she goes again – regular as clockwork,' he murmured to himself. Hardly needing to glance down at his watch, he knew that the stranger would be returning to her beach-side cottage, some hundred yards away from his own, in approximately one hour.

            Did she spend her time sunbathing? Or merely sitting on the glistening, white sand and gazing out at the ocean? Of course, there was always the possibility that she might be interested in exploring the coral reef. In which case…

            "Oh come on! Grow up!" he snapped irritably, his lips tight with exasperation at the thought of himself behaving in such a juvenile manner.

            Following his attendance at an international tax conference in Manila, and desperately needing some peach and quiet in which to sort out his personally problems, Rowan had decided to take a week's vacation. This remote island resort – only capable of being reached by private plane, and where guests were guaranteed total privacy – had sounded ideal. Which was why he was now so thoroughly annoyed with himself. It was clearly ridiculous – and a totally waste of his valuable time – to be indulging in foolish, idle speculation about a fellow guest.

            However, the facts were that he'd been at first intrigued and the increasingly curious as to why, in this scorching heat, anyone should feel it necessary to clothe themselves from head to toe in long flowing robes which completely concealed their figure. Nor could he understand why she wore such a very large, floppy hat, which effectively kept her face always hidden from view. Not exactly, in this day and age, the normal beach attire of a young woman. 

            Because, yes – mostly because of the wide brimmed hat – he was not quite certain that the distant figure _was_ that of a woman. And from her sometimes quick, lively stride along the edge of the ocean he'd guessed she must also be fairly young and agile. But why shroud herself in such heavy disguise?

            Amongst the many scenarios, which had occurred to him, Rowan had finally settled for the supposition that she might be someone famous, or in the public eye. But, if so, she certainly didn't seem to be typical of any prominent personalities he'd come across. Having been briefly married to a well-known model, it was his experience that such celebrities only thrived when fully exposed – and thus able to gain as much adulation and publicity as possible.

            So, what mystery lay behind this woman's definitely unusual and baffling behavior…?

            "Forget it! It's none of your damn business," He told himself roughly, putting down his empty glass and striding over to the desk, set in a shady corner of the wide veranda. Firmly banishing all thought of the strange woman, he sat down and began sorting through the large pile of papers in front of him, resolutely determined to concentrate on trying to sort out his late brother's tangled affairs.

            Swimming slowly, just beneath the almost still surface of the ocean, Mia gazed down in wonder at the hidden world of the coral reef. Despite coming here as often as possibly during her brief stay on this lovely island, she never ceased to marvel at the brilliant, iridescent colors of the tiny fish, daring and weaving their way through the long, pale knobbly fingers of the coral.

            Although she'd spent the last few months traveling all over the globe, this enchanting subterranean world of pink and green sea anemones, and strange colored sea urchins, whose jelly-like fronds waved to and fro in the gentle ocean current, was certainly one of the highlights of her trip. 

            Having worked flat out for the last five years, Mia reckoned she'd been fully entitled to take a three-month vacation. It would, she reasoned, not only give her the opportunity of seeing some far-flung corners of the world, but would also be a good time to reassess her career. To think long and hard about what she wanted to do in the future.

            From the moment when she'd gained a small role in _Ring of Destiny_ right through to her last, Oscar-winning film, _Fear No Evil_, she'd hardly had time to draw breath – let alone take any time off to really consider where her career was heading.

            Not that she was likely to face too many problems straight away. Winning an Oscar for Best Actress in her last film would certainly guarantee that she'd be offered just about any film she liked to star in when she returned to Hollywood. Playing 'feisty', modern heroines was all very well. But maybe it was about time she extended her range by acting one of the more classical roles?

            _Oh, come on – who are you kidding?_ She asked herself roughly as she trod water for a moment, adjusting her snorkel. While the future direction of her career was very important, it was no good trying to pretend that it was the _sole_ reason for taking such a long break from her work. Because, of course, the main impetus behind wanting to 'get away from it all' had been the urgent need to help cure her broken heart.

            Unlike most of her fellow actresses, who seemed to have no problem flitting from one lover to another, Mia had finally forced herself to face the facts. She was, it seemed, one of those boring creatures: a nice, old-fashioned girl. Not that she was actively looking for a husband, she'd assured herself hurriedly. But one-night stands were definitely _not_ her 'thing'. Which meant she'd found no problem turning down some of the well-known male Hollywood stars for whom 'commitment' was clearly a dirty word.

            _And that only goes to prove that pride comes before a fall!_ She told herself with disgust. Because what had she done? She'd just gone and fallen head over heels in love with a married man – _that_ was what she'd done! 

            As the star of her last film, she might have been expected to fulfill that old Hollywood cliché and fall in love with her leading man. But, not her – oh no! _She_ had to be different, right? She had fallen hook, line and sinker for Ryo Sanada – author of the best-selling novel_ Fear No Evil_ on which the film was based, who'd also written the screenplay.

            It wasn't until they were halfway through shooting the film that she met Ryo. He, as it turned out, actively hated the whole Hollywood scene, only agreeing to join the film crew on location to make necessary alterations to the script. So it was there, miles away from civilization – and only too easy to forget the real world – that Mia had suddenly found herself fathoms deep in love with the tall, dark and diabolically handsome Englishman.

            To be far, Ryo had behaved like a perfect gentleman. And that had been the trouble, of course. Maybe, given an ounce of encouragement, she might have cast her scruples to the wind and indulged in a really hot, scorching affair. Unfortunately, he'd kept her very firmly at arm's length.

            In her own defense, it was fair to say that Mia hadn't known Ryo Sanada was a married man. Well, not at first, anyway. And by the time she did find out, it was far too late. In fact, when she'd gone completely over the top, arrived uninvited at his privately owned Caribbean island, she had been in grave danger of making an absolute fool of herself.

            Luckily, Ryo and his estranged wife, Luna, had proved to be really nice people. And, of course, as soon as she'd figured out the _real_ situation, Mia had managed to find some hidden depths of pride and resolution. Just enough to enable her, however shakily, to retire from the field with her head held high.

            In fact, she wasn't at all sure that it hadn't been her best performance: acting the part of a woman with clearly not a care in the world – and blithely wishing the two of them the very best of luck – before returning to the sanctuary of her own home and giving way to deep misery as she tried to mend her fragile, broken heart.

            Still…no matter how hard she'd tried, and the many strict lectures she'd given herself, Mia had found it almost impossible to put Ryo out of her mind – and her heart. Which was why this vacation had seemed such a very good idea. And, of course, that old proverb 'time is the best healer' had eventually proved to be true.

            Somewhere…somehow, between viewing the Aztec ruins in Mexico and exploring the old city of Delhi, she'd managed to pull herself together. By the time she was recovering from a nasty dose of food poisoning – and being so kindly nursed back to health in that wonderfully luxurious hotel in Jaipur – Mia had woken up one morning to discover, to her complete astonishment, that she was no longer totally and irrevocably in love with Ryo Sanada.

            He would always have a special place in her heart, of course. But now she felt confident of being able to take that flight home to American tomorrow – quite sage in the knowledge that she was now ready to start a new life.

            _All the same…just make sure that in the future you stay well away from any tall, dark and ruthlessly attractive Englishmen!_ She wanted herself grimly, before turning to swim slowly back to the shore.

            "That's odd…" Rowan muttered, frowning as he glanced down at his wristwatch. It was the first time, during the past four days, when the weirdly dressed woman had not kept to her rigid timetable.

            Not that it was anything to do with him, of course. Absolutely _not_! In fact, it was definitely about time he learnt to mind his own business.

            However, some ten minutes later he was still feeling slightly uneasy. He didn't want to make a nuisance of himself, of course. But perhaps it might be a good idea to take a stroll along the beach? Just to make sure that the woman really _was_ all right…?

            Rising from his seat behind the desk, he walked slowly down to the water's edge. And then, jut as he was taking himself to task for being a fool, and about to return to his own _casita_, he heard a faint cry in the distance,

            "Are you all right?" he called out some moments later as he ran swiftly towards the crumpled figure sitting hunched on the sand beside the ocean.

            "No…I guess I've got myself into some…some sort of mess," the woman replied, her American-accented voice sounding muffled beneath the hat and voluminous gauzy outfit. She appeared to be concentrating on gripping hold of her foot with both hands.

            It was only as he approached her and bent down that Rowan was able to see the blood seeping from between the fingers of the hands clasped so tightly about her ankle.

            "Good Lord! What's happened?"

            "I don't know how I could have been _such_ an idiot." The woman's voice was stronger now, and heavy with self-disgust. "I didn't look where I was going. And I forgot just about how sharp the coral can be." She nodded towards the ocean, where the line of her footsteps intermingled with some spots of blood, was clearly visible on the white sand.

            "I think…well, I've got a horrid feeling that I may have cut into a vein, or something," She continued with a slight wobble in her voice. "Because, however hard I try, I can't seem to stop its bleeding."

            "There is no need to panic. Just try and stay calm," Rowan told her, swiftly assessing the situation. "However, it's important to maintain pressure on the wound. So, keep holding on while I fix some bandages to tie around your ankle, okay?"

            "Okay," She nodded. And then, he quickly seized a hold of some of the thin material swathed about her body, and began tearing it into strips, she cried, "Hey – don't do that! I've got to keep out of the sun. Otherwise I'll burn to a crisp."

            "God preserve me from damn stupid women!" he muttered grimly. "Do you want to get slightly burnt – or do you want to bleed to death?" he added taking no notice of her protest as he carefully removed her fingers before binding the guaze 'bandages' tightly about her ankle.

            "OK-OK…" she sighed. "I guess I've been a bit of a fool. And I really ought to thank you for coming so promptly to my rescue."

            "That might not be a bad idea," He agreed, with a sharp bark of sardonic laughter.

            "I'm sure I'll be all right now," she said as he rose to his feet, frowning anxiously down at his amateur handiwork, not at all sure how it would hold the would together.

            "No. I think you're very far from 'all right'," he told her firmly. "You're going to need some professional help – and as soon as possible. Have you got a first aid kit in your bungalow?"

            "I…I don't think so," she muttered burying her face in her bloodstained hands for a moment.

Owari of **Chapter One **

Author's Note: I know that sucked as an cliffhanger but this is my first time. Reviews anyone?


	2. Chapter Two

**Absolutely Crazy (Chapter Two)**

Written by Imperial Fire Queen

Disclaimer: I don't own the Ronin Warriors.

            "No. I think you're very far from 'all right'," he told her firmly. "You're going to need some professional help – and as soon as possible. Have you got a first aid kit in your bungalow?"

            "I…I don't think so," she muttered, burying her face in her bloodstained hands for a moment.

            Rowan's mouth tightened grimly. It was difficult to see anything under that damned hat. But, from what little he could see of her face, it was obvious that the woman's cheeks were deathly pale. Clearly there was no time to be lost in getting her some serious medical attention.

            "Well, there's no point in hanging around here," he told her firmly, before quickly bending down and scooping her up into his arms.

            "Hey – what do you think you're doing?" she shrieked in a much stronger voice, the heavy voluminous garments hampering her movements as she tried to wriggle out of his grip. "Put me down at once!" 

            Ignoring the frantic twisting and turning of the lightweight figure in his arms, Rowan began striding rapidly back up the beach.

            "I take it you're not entirely stupid? So, don't you think it's time you started using your brain?" he demanded curtly.

            When her only reply was a short, startled intake of breath, he continued grimly, "That's only a temporary bandage which I've placed around your ankle. I don't expect it will hold the bleeding for very long. And especially not if you try to walk back up the beach to your bungalow. Got the message?"

            "Oh, sure, I've got the message – you bully!" she retorted with a shaky laugh, before muttering something else under her breath.

            "I'm sorry…I didn't quite catch what you said."

            "You weren't meant to!" She retorted. "But if you _must_ know I was reminded myself that I'd vowed to stay well away from tall, dark-haired Englishmen. And especially ones who are clearly hard, tough and _very_ bossy!"

            He glanced down at the girl in his arms. Somewhere along the line, possibly due to her frantic struggling, she seemed to have lost her wide-brimmed hat. However, it wasn't possible to tell the color of her hair, since it was totally covered by a thick black scarf, knotted at the back of her head. Her face didn't look particularly appetizing either – her bloodstained fingers having left ugly-looking russet-brown streaks across her pale cheeks and forehead.

            Only the wide green eyes, heavily fringed by dark lashes, which appeared to be glinting with some emotion – although he wasn't quite sure whether it was anger or laughter – gave any hint that there might be a lot more to this woman than appeared obvious at the moment.

            "Well if it's any consolation," Rowan drawled as he mounted the steps to her veranda, "I'm normally a very polite man. In fact, I wouldn't dream of being either 'hard' or 'bossy'. Unless of course, I find myself rescuing a grumpy American lady – who's clearly determined not to listen to any of my good advice!" he added with a dry bark of sardonic laughter.

            Striding swiftly into the cool, dim interior of the cottage, whose lay-out was similar to that of his own, he entered the bedroom and laid her gently down on the large four-poster bed.

            "Oops! I guess that's put me well and truly in my place…huh?" she gave a heavy, almost theatrical sigh as she leaned back against the pillows. "It must be really, _really_ great to know that whatever happens in the big bad world – _you_ are always right."

            Staring grimly down at her, Rowan had no problem thinking of several crushing remarks which would put this irritating female very firmly in her place. And then as he viewed the pale face, and the slightly trembling hands, he realized he'd been far too rough on this poor girl who was now looking a lot younger than he'd at first supposed.

            "I'm sorry. I should apologize for being so rude," he said quietly. "It's just that I was worried about the wound to your ankle. Believe me, you really _must_ have it seem to by a doctor – and as soon as possible."

            "Yes, well…I guess it's my turn to apologize. I've obviously been a real pain in the neck," she admitted, gazing up in some bewilderment at the deeply tanned, hawk-like features of the tall, dark and remarkably handsome man who'd just rescued her from a nasty predicament.

            "I…I can't think what's come over me," she continued in a slightly weak, breathless tone of voice. "Because I don't…I _really_ don't usually behave like this."

            "I'm sure you don't. And – although you may find it difficult to believe – neither do I!" He grinned. "So, I'm just going to ring through to the main hotel and ask them to provide some medical assistance. Once I'm satisfied that help is on the way, I promise to leave you well alone. OK?"

            "No…no…please don't go," she begged, swiftly reaching up to catch hold of his hand. "Not…well, not until after I've seen the doctor."

            "Relax – there's no need to worry. I'll definitely stay here for as long as you need me," he promised, before leaving the room.

            Goodness knows what was about this highly disturbing girl…Rowan mused as he lifted the phone to call the main hotel. She looked the complete mess, of course. But there was something about the tone of her voice – and the soft gleam in those emerald green eyes – which was clearly having a rather odd effect on him. In fact, ridiculous as it might seem, he was definitely beginning to find her sexually attractive!

            Luckily the hotel was able to arrange immediate attention. And Rowan, waiting out on the veranda, was relieved when the doctor confirmed that the patient was now well out of danger.

            "You did well to stop the bleed in time," the elderly stout man puffed, brandishing a large white handkerchief as he wiped the perspiration from his brow. "However, the cut is not too serious. Provided that you look after your wife, and make sure that she stays in bed for the test of the day, she will be quite well enough to fly back to American tomorrow."

            "What…?" Rowan gazed at him in astonishment. "I'm sorry…you clearly don't understand the situation. I can assure you that this lady is very definitely _not_ my wife. In fact…"

            "Ah, yes, I see how it is – you lucky dog!" the doctor chuckled, giving the Englishman a sharp dig in the ribs. "We are, of course, both men of the world. So, there is no need to worry. Your secret is quite sage with me," he added, with a friendly slap on the tall man's shoulders, before making his way back down the steps of the veranda. "I will leave you to look after the lovely 'lady', yes?"

            "No! I mean…you've got hold of the wrong end of the stick!" he called out as the doctor disappeared from sight, leaving only the sound of a hoarse, rumbling laugh hanging heavily in the air behind him.

            Rowan brushed a hand roughly through his dark hair. What in the hell was he suppose to do now?

            The idea of being forced to look after that strange, weird-looking girl was hardly a tempting prospect. All the same…he could hardly walk away and leave her on her own. However, with any luck she would by now be feeling tired, and only too pleased to see the back of him. Right?

            Definitely feeling in need of a stiff drink, Rowan braced his shoulders and forced himself to knock on the bedroom door.

            "I'm sorry to have to say that the doctor, for some strange reason, seems to have completely the wrong idea about us," he said as he entered the room. "While I'm quite willing to do what I can, I really don't think – _Good God_!"

            Making his way slowly across the large room, Rowan – feeling as though he'd been hit on the head by a heavy lead pipe – was having considerable difficulty in accepting the evidence of his own eyes. What on earth had happened to the blood-streaked, almost grubby-looking figure of the woman whom he'd rescued from the beach less than an hour ago…?

            "I simply _don't_ believe it!" he breathed, his stunned gaze traveling up over the long shapely legs and lightly tanned, hourglass figure, tantalizingly covered by a diaphanous chiffon wrap over a minuscule blue bikini which left virtually _nothing_ to the imagination. In place of that hideous black scarf there was now a man of long, wavy red hair – like a fiery, brilliant sunburst on the pillow – surrounding a perfect heart-shaped face, enormously wide blue eyes, and a mouth which curved as sensually as her firm, full breasts.

            Rowan stared, a thousand thoughts flying around in his mind, none all-too clean. He must've voiced some of those thoughts out because, the next thing he knew…

            She gave a peal of laughter at the sound of his hoarse, strangled voice, and his stunned expression, he clutched hold of one of the bedposts and made a determined effort to clear his mind.

            "I…er…I'm sorry," he muttered, his cheeks flushing slightly as he realized that he'd been behaving like a stupid idiot. "It's just that…" He gave a distracted shake of his dark head completely unable to put into words the effect she was having on his normally well-controlled self.

            "Hey – relax! There's no need to apologize." The girl assured him. "I don't know why the British have a reputation for being so formal and icily polite," she added with a surprisingly breathless shaky laugh. "In my experience, you guys seem to be born with an amazing ability to make a girl feel like a million dollars!"

            "I wish it were true. But I fear you are sadly mistaken." Rowan smiled ruefully down at the beautiful creature lying so elegantly stretched out on the bed. "Unfortunately, most of the time we look – and act – as if we're well and truly strangled by our old school ties!"

            "Oh, really…?" She grinned. "Well, since you clearly _aren't_ wearing a tie at the moment, how about fixing us both something to drink?"

            "If the doctor gave you any medicine, you ought to avoid alcohol," he warned.

            "It's OK. I haven't even taken any aspirins," she assured him. "Although I normally drink very little, I reckon that after today's misadventures I could do with a stiff dose of brandy."

            "That sounds like an extremely good idea," he agreed, grateful for the opportunity, however brief, in which to make a determined effort to pull himself together. It was clearly ridiculous for a grown man, approaching forty years of age, to find himself so completely bowled over by a girl – however lovely she might be, he told himself, his lips tightening grimly as he mixed their drinks at the bar in the large sitting room.

            After all, following the break-up of his marriage, he'd had plenty of glamorous, highly attractive girlfriends, _none_ of whom had caused him to lose a wink of sleep at night, or produced even the slightest ripple in his life. So why…why should it take just one brief smile from that admittedly beautiful but troublesome American girl…and he was straight into meltdown?

            In fact, if he didn't get his act together – and fast! – he was going to be in dead trouble, Rowan warned himself sternly. So he'd better get the hell out of here, as soon as possible.

            "Well, now…" he drawled some minutes later, sipping his brandy as he leaned casually against one of the tall, wooden posts at the end of the bed. "I'm hoping you can solve the mystery of why, for the past few days, you've been dressed like an old bag lady? Why cover yourself from head to toe in thick layers of gauze? Not to mention the reason for wearing that quite dreadful hat!"

            "There's no mystery. I was just being very careful not to get sunburned." The ravishingly lovely girl grinned up at him, before holding a lock of her fiery red hair. "Unfortunately, with my kind of skin, if I sit in the sun for even ten minutes I turn a bright shade of lobster. And if you want to spend some time in the water, wearing total block isn't always the answer, either."

            "But you've got a wonderful tan," he protested, attempting to keep his gaze well away from her luscious figure.

            She shrugged. "Well, I'm sorry to have to tell you that like everything else in show business it's false. Just an illusion."

            "I know nothing about 'show business,' as you call it." Rowan shrugged, before walking through into the other room to fix them both another drink. "In fact, I can't recall the last time I went to see a play or a film. And I'm not exactly keen on the ballet either," he added, returning to place a glass in her hand.

            "Oh, Lord…!" he continued his hooded blue eyes gleaming with amusement as he stood looking down at her. "I hope I haven't said the wrong thing? Are you a dancer?"

            "No, I most certainly am not!" she laughed. "Anyway, who cares about what either of us does for a living? I'm far more interested in the fact that I don't even know your name."

            "Yes, I suppose we ought to introduce ourselves. So…"

            "Just a minute," she winced, struggling to adjust eh pillows behind her head. "I seem to be getting a real crick in my neck, staring up at you like this. How about taking the weight off your feet? She added, patting the bed beside her.

            Maybe it had been a great mistake to pour them both a second drink. Because when thinking about the episode, much later, Rowan would totally fail to understand why he'd chosen to ignore the loud warning bells ringing so urgently in his head as he slowly lowered himself down on the soft mattress.

            "That's much better," she sighed, raising a hand to rub the back of her neck. "So, how about if I kick off by saying that, as far as Christian names are concerned, my parents chose to call me Maillaine."

            "Well Maillaine…" he began, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the effect that the close proximity of this amazingly sexy girl was having on his body. "I…er…I regret to have to tell you that I am one of those _very_ boring members of society – a lawyer. And, even wore, at my christening I was burdened with the truly awful names of Ruwonanth Doran Harsby!"

            "I'm not sure that 'awful' is exactly the right word," she murmured, clearly trying not to laugh. I'd be more inclined to call it downright cruel. Because I'm afraid that there is nothing in the least romantic about the name Ruwonanth."

            He nodded in agreement, desperately fighting a totally crazy, insane urge to make mad, passionate – 

            "Which is why, from my earliest years, I've insisted on being called by the name, Rowan." He said, taking a huge gulp from the glass in his hand.

            "Hmm…that's a lot better," she agreed, the warm gleam in her wide green eyes causing his pulse to begin racing out of control. "Yes, I think that Rowan is just about the perfect name for a guy like you,"

            There was a long silence as they gazed at one another, the smily slowly dying rom her lips, her cheeks reddening slightly under his steady gaze.

            "I could be very wrong, of course," he said slowly, "But I have the distinct impression that there's –,"

            She held up a hand, signifying 'no more'. "It's absolutely crazy of course," She replied in a soft voice.

            "Absolutely crazy," he agreed softly, his blue eyes darkening momentarily as she nervously moistened her dry lips with her tongue.

            "And we hardly know each other!" She added with a helpless shrug, closing her eyes for a moment as a deep crimson flush spread over her face. "I'm feeling a bit funny, I think I may have lost too much blood," She offered pathetically.

"You're not the only one…" Rowan muttered under his breath. A small tendril had escaped her ear and was now playfully dangling over a cheek. _DON'T TOUCH THE HAIR! FIGHT THE URGE!_ He gave himself a mental smack and jumped up abruptly. "I should really get going," 

            She arched a dark eyebrow. "Maybe you should sit down a bit, you look a bit flushed…you probably had too much alcohol to drink." She tugged at her neckline, knowing that her face was still red. "Let the alcohol run through your system first before you leave. Besides, I've been in want of company ever since I came to this island." 

            Rowan averted his gaze, the tugging action of hers revealing a lot more skin that he had expected. However, he sat back down on the bed anyways, and drank even more from the glass in his hand. 

            "Rowan…" She murmured softly.

            He looked up and bit back a groan.

            Damn his hormones to the nine pits of hell.

Owari of **Chapter Two**

Author's Notes: I am very aware of the fact that Rowan is not English but rather Japanese. I am also aware that Mia is half-French and half-Japanese. However, for the purposes of this story, they are who/what they are. Yeah, yeah…Maillaine and Ruwonanth are truly terrible names. It's (the names) only mentioned there because that scene demanded it. Hope you enjoyed…reviews are very much welcomed.


	3. Chapter Three

Absolutely Crazy (Chapter Three)

Written by I. Fire Queen

Disclaimer: I deny having ever owned RW.

            Rowan put down his pen, sighing heavily as he leaned back in his chair and gazed out through the window of his study at the trees and parkland surrounding Hashiba Hall.

            It was now three months since he'd returned from abroad. A hard, frantically busy three months, dealing with the burdensome legacy of his inheritance: a dilapidated 'stately home' and an estate, which had been badly neglected for many years.

            With so much work to do – including many long, drawn-out meetings with the family trustees – he'd had no alternative but to resign from his position as senior partner of the large firm of lawyers in London. However, while he'd originally thought that he might miss the cut and thrust of City business, Rowan had been surprised to discover that he'd gained a considerable bonus. Despite now being forced by circumstances to live in the country, he'd found himself actively enjoying the slower pace of quiet, rural life. But that was just about the _only_ silver lining to the dark clouds, which still loomed over his unexpected inheritance.

            His young daughter, Suzunagi, appeared to find the whole situation highly amusing. But Rowan wasn't particularly thrilled about the fact that following so many close relatives' deaths, he'd now inherited a title first granted to his family by Henry VIII. As he had told one of his oldest friends the other day, "Quite frankly, to be now known and addressed as Lord Hashiba has to be a complete anachronism in this day and age. Of course, it's quite useful if I want to book a table in a restaurant," he'd added with a wry smile. "But in all other respects it seems a bit pointless."

            Rowan was, in fact, far more concerned with the many important, vital decisions he would have to take concerning the large estate, amounting to some ten thousand acres. 

            After calling in agricultural experts, he had learned that, while the land itself was in good heart, the various farmhouses, farm buildings, machinery and livestock had been badly neglected. Unlike his uncle Hector, who'd successfully managed to ignore the problem for so many years, Rowan felt it was both his duty and responsibility to do everything he could on behalf of the people and the families living on his estate. Unfortunately, there was also the serious problem of exactly _what_ he was going to do about Hashiba Hall.

            Pushing back his chair and rising to his feet, he began to prowl restlessly around the large room. 

            Having made enquiries, he was now in no doubt that, as matters stood at present, it was useless to even think of trying to sell the huge old mansion. No one with any sense would dream of taking on such a massive house. Especially one which needed a great deal of money to be spent on its restoration.

            And that was proving to be a real problem. It wasn't that he couldn't afford to pay for the repairs – having worked so hard in the City for the last ten years, he was now very wealthy in his own right – but, as his own financial advisers had pointed out, why would a divorced man, with no intention of remarrying in the foreseeable future, want to spend a fortune restoring such a huge building which was clearly designed for a large family?

            In fact, the whole problem of what to do about Hashiba Hall had proved to be nothing but a major headache. Until he'd heard about the needs of film and television companies, who were continually searching for large old houses in which to film their various productions. Which was why, after he'd swiftly contacted several agencies, he'd been pleased to have a TV crew here last month, filming the exterior of the Hall for an Edwardian-style version of Shakespeare's _Comedy of Errors_.

            It wasn't the complete answer, of course. Although the fee which he'd received for the use of the place was almost indecently large, it was a mere drop in the ocean as far as paying for any serious repairs was concerned. Still, it was a start. And with the arrival yesterday of an American-financed film company, prepared to take over and use the whole of the mansion for at least a month, it now looked as though he could stop worrying about the house. For the time being, at least. 

            He'd also been successful in persuading the tax authorities to take, in part-settlement of death duties, two huge Old Master paintings. While they had been all that was left of a once large, well-known collection, he wasn't prepared to spend too long regretting their departure. Especially since the dark, gloomy scenes of religious life had been highly depressing. 

            So, all in all, he hadn't done too badly over these last three months, Rowan assured himself. In fact…

            His thoughts interrupted by the shrill, ringing tones of the telephone, he strode back to his desk and lifted the receiver. 

            Grimacing at the all too familiar sounds of his ex-wife's breathless, child-like voice, he waited with grim patience to discover what she wanted. Because, of course, Martina wouldn't dream of ringing him up – not unless she needed something. He could only hope that there was no problem with his daughter, Suzunagi.

            Looking back, it seemed to Rowan as if their marriage had been doomed from the start. Originally captivated by the tall, exquisitely beautiful model, whose face had adorned so many magazine covers, it hadn't been long before he'd discovered that there was very little in that lovely blonde head. And, to be fair, she had obviously been disappointed to find that she'd married a man who not only took his work seriously, but whom she clearly regarded as a boring workaholic.

            Missing the world of the media and show business, it hadn't been long before Martina had run away from home to live with a cockney pop star. She had also taken their small young daughter with her. Despite desperately missing his little girl, and being prepared to do just about anything to ensure his daughter's happiness, Rowan had bent over backwards to ensure that he remained on good, friendly terms with both his ex-wife and the new man in her life, Joe Tucker.

            Surprisingly, it hadn't proved to be too hard a task. The pop star had turned out to be a basically kind and thoroughly decent man. And Rowan could only admire the fact that Joe – professionally known as Frank N. Stein, and lead singer of the Raving Monsters – had turned out to be far to shrewd and down-to-earth to make the mistake of marrying Martina.

            Unfortunately, as time had gone by, it began to seem that neither the pop star or Rowan's ex-wife had any idea of how to cope with Suzunagi, by now a thoroughly difficult four-year-old toddler. And Rowan himself was also becoming increasingly worried about the young girl – not only going through a typically 'temper-tantrum throwing' phase of life, but also receiving little discipline from her butterfly-minded mother. 

            "OK…OK…" he sighed, cutting across his ex-wife's ramblings. "I've got the picture. And you can tell Suzunagi that I'm _thoroughly_ ashamed of her behavior. What on earth possessed her to throw mud at another child? There's no excuse for such bad manners. She's lucky to have gotten off easily." He added grimly. "Yes…yes, of course…if you're having to go abroad for a few days she's more than welcome to stay here with me. In fact, she can probably make herself useful by keeping the film company off my back."

            And that last remark, he told himself ruefully, putting down the phone some minutes later, had been a _bad_ mistake. Because as soon as his ex-wife had heard the magic words 'film company' he'd had the greatest difficulty persuading her that while Suzunagi was more than welcome Martina definitely was not.

            On top of which, there had been a decidedly unwelcome over-friendly tone in his ex-wife's voice. In fact, he told himself with a frown, it if didn't sound _too_ ridiculous, it had almost seemed as if she'd been seeking some form of reconciliation…

            However, he had absolutely _no_ intention of going back down that road. His daughter, Suzunagi, might be badly in need of a stable home environment, but there was absolutely no way he could ever face remarrying her neurotic, shallow and empty-headed mother.

            He'd had several glamorous girlfriends since his wife had walked out all those years ago. But either he'd grown quickly tired of their company or the, too, had become fed up with always coming a bad second to his working life. In fact, Rowan had never seen any reason to get married again – basically on the principle of 'once bitten…twice shy'. Not until his heart had been totally captured following that brief, quite extraordinary meeting with the bewitchingly lovely Maillaine.

            It was three long months since their passionate encounter, but he could still recall his delight at the miraculous way their two figures had seemed to fit so perfectly together, and the excitement of gently caressing her quivering, trembling flesh, which had almost seemed to melt beneath his fingers. If he closed his eyes, he could still smell the intoxicating, sweetly perfumed scent of her body, still hear her soft moans and breathless gasps of pleasure as their lovemaking had become more intense, both inciting and increasing his own fast-mounting desire.

            Although he had tried to keep himself well under control, the thrillingly erotic, sensual touch of her hands and mouth on his body had overcome all restraint. Helplessly gripped by the fierce power of a deep primeval force, the like of which he'd never known before, he'd finally possessed her with a raging, thrusting urgency, the loud pounding of her heart beating in rapid unison with his own as they'd both climaxed together in wave upon wave of ecstasy, before spiraling dizzily back down to earth.

            Afterwards, as they'd lain entwined together in languorous warmth and tenderness, with Rowan gently brushing tendrils of that wonderful fiery red hair from her damp brow, he'd known with absolute certainty that he had never, until that moment, experienced such overwhelming joy and happiness.

            Try as he might, he'd been quite unable to forget the impact of that utterly astounding, spellbinding experience. Unfortunately, however much as he might have loathed the idea, Rowan had know that he had no choice but to return to his new, heavy responsibilities in England. It was also clear that with the width of the Atlantic Ocean as a permanent barrier between himself and Maillaine, there could be no 'happy ever after' ending to their brief night of passion.

            Besides, he was old enough to know that the sooner he did his best to put Maillaine out of his mind, the better. There was obviously no way that they would ever meet again. And to be continually recalling the wondrous, soft quality of her skin, the truly dazzling heights which they'd attained their lovemaking, could only make his present-day life even harder than it was already.

            Mia gazed out of the window of the limousine as it sped along the motorway. The countryside was so different from that in the United States; it was taking her some time to get used to the very small scale of local geography here in England.

            London, of course, had been great. When she'd first arrived in the country, some three weeks ago, she'd managed to find the time – amidst costume fittings, voice coaching sessions and learning her script – to see the usual tourist sights of Buckingham Palace, the Tower and Westminster Abbey. But, this week, which had been spent filming location shots outside various old houses all over the country, had been something else! In fact…

            "You're going to _love_ this house. It's far grander than the others we've used so far."

            "Hmm…?" Mia turned back to look at her personal assistant, Kayura Shinto, who was leafing through a large file on her lap.

            "Now…this is what I call a _real_ stately home." The English girl said, handing Mia a large black and white photograph.

            "It certainly looks impressive," Mia agreed, gazing at the picture of a classical Georgian-style Palladian mansion, whose entrance was dominated by huge stone pillars above a broad, sweeping expanse of wide stone steps. "What's the interior like?"

            "Absolutely frightful!" the other girl laughed. "In fact, the main rooms are in a terrible state. But, as the producer says, that's all to the good. It's meant that we've had a completely free hand in the decoration."

            "Are we really staying there?" Mia frowned. "It looks pretty uncomfortable to me. What's wrong with a nice quiet local hotel?"

            Kayura shrugged. "I understand the film company negotiated a really good deal package deal with the owner. Which means that we can use practically the whole house – including all twenty-five bedrooms! – and the catering company will have masses of room in the enormous kitchens. In fact," the small raven-haired girl added with a grin, "I think it's going to be a lot of fun,"

            "In your dreams!" Mia told her assistant gloomily. "I'll lay you any odds that the plumbing will be practically non-existent. And I don't suppose that anyone will be too familiar with those important words 'constant hot water', either!"

            "Well, you may have a point." Kayura admitted. "But with the schedules having to be altered at the last minute…" she shrugged. "I suppose this is the best that the production team could come up with under the circumstances."

            "I guess you're right." Mia sighed, well aware that it was solely _her_ fault that there had been such frantically hurried necessary changed in the film's shooting schedule.

            Unfortunately, her appointment to see an eminent doctor in Harley Street, two weeks ago, had been fairly traumatic. Not being entirely a fool, she'd had a very good idea that he would confirm her suspicions. But, all the same…the whole scenario was definitely an earth-shattering one.

            However, she was going to have to pull herself together pretty damn fast. Especially since the American backers of this new film had made it abundantly clear that the whole show was now riding on her slim shoulders. 

            "We know that you'll do us proud," Sol Weiser had said, when she'd signed the contract some months ago, his wide beaming smile not reflected in those cold, small piggy eyes. "But, let's face it, darling – without your name on the credits, we wouldn't have dreamed of putting up the money for this arty type of film. So, we're all going to make sure it's a success, right?"

            "I'll certainly do my best. It won't be my fault if this film bombs at the box office," she'd told him with a confident smile.

            However, after leaving his office, Mia had known that she wouldn't be human if she hadn't been plagued by doubts. Which had made it all the more nerve-racking when she'd had to phone Sol last week and tell him the news: she'd just discovered she was expecting a baby.

Author's Notes: This story is sort of boring but things will start happening. I wanted to explain some parts first before going on ahead. Next part will be coming out as soon as I find the time to type it up. I've got lots of inspiration for this story so hopefully, I'll be able to update regularly.


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